


Lighter Hearts

by talkingtothesky



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Missing Scene, Season/Series 05, Season/Series 05 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-14
Updated: 2016-05-14
Packaged: 2018-06-08 09:29:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6848935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/talkingtothesky/pseuds/talkingtothesky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reese and Finch spend time together at the picnic. (5x02 coda)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lighter Hearts

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is silly, and predictable, and involves the needless application of sunblock (but really, why did Root make a point of mentioning it if nobody planned to use it? She's just trying to get her roomie laid). 5x02 was a gift, okay? Deal with it.
> 
> Spoilers for 5x01 and 5x02. References a line from 4x05 Prophets and a scene from 4x11 If-Then-Else.
> 
> Also, I can't even choose whether this is (Re-)Established Relationship or First Time, so you decide.

"Now that we've all had a bite to eat," Root said, smiling, "I thought we might play some games." She reached into the picnic basket and drew out a large, neon pink, plastic disc with curved edges. But it wasn't a plate, it was...

 

"A frisbee?" Fusco said, like he couldn't believe what he was seeing. Harold and John at least had some prior warning: it had been on her shopping list.

 

"I packed a lot in here." Root jiggled her wrist around in the hamper, rustling its contents, and Finch realized with a jolt that knowing her, there might be firearms too.

 

Fusco was ready with a comeback. "Sure you're not a real girl scout?"

 

Root winked at him. "I was waiting for you to mention my uniform." Then she flicked her wrist and the frisbee spiralled quite a distance away, clearing the pathway and landing on the next grassy area. "Go fetch, Lionel."

 

Lionel stared at her with his mouth open, clearly rubbed the wrong way by this, but whatever he might have said next was interrupted by a bark - Bear had found them again. They'd been letting him run off the leash unsupervised since they entered the park. Bear had been stuck underground as much as any of them lately. He deserved an afternoon in the sun.

 

The dog retrieved the frisbee and practically climbed into Fusco's lap to deliver it back to him: it was clearly his turn. Fusco rolled his eyes and relented. "Okay, okay." He threw the frisbee and Bear went tearing after it, while Fusco shrugged out of his jacket and took off his tie. Root was getting to her feet as well, accepting the returned toy from Bear with an enthusiastic rub between his ears.

 

Before he left, Fusco pointed at John. "No sneaking off and getting changed when I'm not looking, you hear me?"

 

John growled.

 

Lionel grinned again, pleased with himself, striding off.

 

Root patted Harold's shoulder. "Have fun," she murmured, fondly.

 

When Root and Fusco were out of earshot, John tugged at the front of the hideous yellow bowling shirt and appealed to Harold. "Would you wear this?"

 

Harold made a face. "Heavens, no."

 

John gestured with both hands, palms upward, as if to say: _proves my point_. "I remember you gave me a twenty-minute lecture once on the disadvantages of polyester." He added, more philosophically.

 

Finch chuckled. "Did I?"

 

"Yeah, apparently it stains easily." John rubbed at the back of his neck, and then grimaced, drawing the top away from his skin. "Ugh, the tag is itching me. I need to cut that off."

 

"Oh, you're planning on keeping it then?"

 

John shrugged, rolling his broad shoulders again in the unfamiliar fabric. "I guess. Fusco's just trying to help. And you've been telling me for years I need to get a hobby, take up a sport."

 

Finch paused when he heard his own words repeated back to him from over a year before. The Machine remembered everything he ever said, too. It had been unnerving and humbling coming from his creation, a reminder of his own hubris. But it was more impressive from John, considering he had a human brain and therefore fallible memory. Harold needed to be careful. The people (and the Machine) that he loved, they tended to take his words to heart.

 

"Do you think it's a good idea? Not too much of a risk?" John's eyebrows twitched up and down. Not so long ago, Harold had tried to keep John with him down in the subway, safe and away from all cameras. Now he was letting him join a bowling league? Well, he'd be with Lionel all the time.

 

"You'll be fine, John. So long as the Riley identity remains intact, you can socialize as much as you'd like. I encourage it, in fact. You make friends much more easily than you realize." John was starting to look misty-eyed at that, so Harold added, undercutting the emotion: "When you're not being moody on purpose."

 

John laughed, his eyes clearing. "I'll show you moody," he said, mock-angry, reaching for a plate with a slice of chocolate cake on it. He caught Finch around the shoulders, dragged him close against his side, and mimed force-feeding it to him.

 

Harold held on under this onslaught, biting his lip and grinning broadly. "Get off," he whined, not really meaning it.

 

John lowered the plate to the blanket and released Harold, though his forehead butted Finch's ear before he backed away. John was blushing, Harold noticed, looking quickly away across the park to hide his face. He'd stretched out on the blanket, ankles crossed, leaning back, his hands flat in the grass behind him, propping him up.

 

Harold reached for a bottle of water, his mouth suddenly dry. "You know," he said, taking a sip and then staring into the water while he worked up to this, "if it bothers you that much, you could always take it off, if you prefer. Just for now."

 

As though he had only been waiting for permission, Reese immediately yanked the shirt off over his head. He cast a guilty glance in Fusco's direction, but Lionel was busy being wrestled to the ground by Bear, play-fighting for control of the frisbee. Root was standing over them, giggling and egging Bear on.

 

Finch put the lid back on the water bottle and then rummaged around in the picnic basket until he found the sunblock which Root had mentioned earlier. He tossed it to John, who caught it. "You don't want to burn."

 

"We're sitting in the shade," John pointed out.

 

Finch reached across and traced a sliver of sunlight on the back of John's neck with his thumb. "Not entirely."

 

John shivered. "Can you do my back?" He rasped.

 

Harold tried not to smile too lasciviously. He wanted to pretend this was no big deal to him. "Of course." He shuffled closer to John again, sitting cross-legged just behind John's left shoulder, so that he could see what he was doing.

 

John cracked the lid off the lotion and squeezed some into Harold's hand. Finch began with John's neck and shoulders, while John dabbed at his own face, the bridge of his nose and his cheekbones. Harold touched him lightly but perhaps too thoroughly, waiting for the sunscreen to absorb before going back for more. John's tanned skin felt heavenly under his hands. Harold stroked the length of his back just to feel the play of muscles under the surface, the intermittent roughness of scar tissue. There was a starburst right between John's shoulder blades, from the bullet he had taken saving Finch, the same day they lost Miss Shaw.

 

Harold stared at the mark for a long moment, suddenly sad. Then he leaned in to kiss it. It tasted of sun cream, which was a mistake, but then John sighed loudly and relaxed against him. "Harold."

 

Harold rested both hands on the back of John's shoulders. "John. Thank you," he murmured, and nuzzled at the v-shape of John's hairline at the nape of his neck.

 

When Root and Bear and Fusco returned from their frisbee tournament, John was still shirtless, and had Harold's arm draped around him, the two of them sitting pressed together as though joined at the hip. Nobody commented, but Root was smirking for the rest of the day. As it turned out, Harold was quite capable of playing board games without letting go of John.


End file.
